


the city is burning, the ocean is turning

by cuddlepunk



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Beach, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lighthouses, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 17:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14549994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlepunk/pseuds/cuddlepunk
Summary: Dan dumps his boiling hot coffee on the butterflies in his stomach, burning their fluttering wings to a crisp, then drowning them. He can feel it everywhere when Phil breathes because ripples are never formed in small towns, even as ocean waves crash.Or, Phil lives in a lighthouse, Dan's an angsty teenager who's parents drag him to the beach all the time.





	the city is burning, the ocean is turning

**Author's Note:**

> why is a normal 21 year old living in a lighthouse in a small town? does he want to be there? does dan fuck all of his friends? find out!!!!!!!
> 
> this is a mess like a fucking mess. the sun rises from the ocean and yet I set this on the east coast! fuck geography its a fan fiction suck my ass.
> 
> you will like this. just give it time

The moon’s veil falls away as it leans in to kiss the sun. It catches the lighthouse, a mock shrine to the shore.

Phil wakes, as he often does, to a muffled Britney Spears alarm. He reaches for his quilt-trapped phone, kicking off sweaty bed sheets when he finally grabs hold. She stops singing, and his ears adjust to only hear the crashing of distant waves. His seven a.m. cue to start the day. 

Living in a lighthouse has pros and cons. He runs a small museum and gift shop in the lower levels during most sunny days and lives further up. You’d think it’s a lot, but he’s nestled in a small beach a good few miles away from the city. There are barely any busy days, and the people who come have never been unkind. He hasn’t had a problem since starting last year. But anything could happen; it’s a new summer season after all. 

Phil wouldn’t trade his little tower for the world. So, he stumbles blind up and down the steep hardwood stairs that connect each narrow floor on his morning routine. Black hair dye bleeds off his hair into the shower drain, inky swirling tendrils dipping down the metal holes. Soap from a shop a walk away skims the sweat from his skin, seashell printed towels wiping away residual water. Today’s outfit is the usual; a bright purple tie dye shirt, black jeans, and a pin that says National Oceanside Associate: PHIL. Grabbing his laptop, phone and a mug of coffee, he trips down another few flights to the ground floor with an hour or so to spare before he really has to open the front doors. There’s no need to, there’s surely no one coming and it’s not like the NOA ever really checks up on him. Phil just likes the routine. Needs it, maybe.

\--- 

Dan’s legs hurt. 

There’s never enough space for him in cars. Or any transportation, really. He’s so fucking big that he can’t fit on public fucking transport, how rich is that? God. Dammit. God. Fucking. Dammit.

His chest feels tight every second he spends around his parents, especially during vacations. Ones he doesn’t fucking want to go on regardless. He has no reason to, just an angsty, emotional teenager looking for something to rebel against and he knows it. His sister, unlike him in every way, is beyond looking forward to the trip. Sandy, of course that’s her name, has always been a social butterfly. Or a social seagull, screaming in flocks and annoying everyone on the beach. 

His family decided to buy a second house on the beach. He decided not to throw a fit, knowing it’s useless anyways. His head is pounding with sleep deprivation and spinning with too much caffeine. The six hours worth of trees, road signs, and white lines are ones he knows he’ll see in forward and reverse hundreds of times for now on, so he tries not to memorize it all that quickly.

Their car eventually pulls up to a house with white shell driveways and a big anchor in the front yard. He refuses to think about it. He doesn’t even look around, just picks the first bedroom he sees, throws his suitcase down on the bed, walks straight out the front door, pulls up Google Maps and gets fucking going. Thank god suburban white families don’t care if their teenage sons run away. Blasting music in his ears drowns out the oohs and ahhs of his family in the background. This is uncharted territory, and adjusting should happen as soon as possible. The beach is only about 2 miles away, which is less than a 20 minute walk with Dan’s freakishly long legs and abhorrence to his family. At least his body is good for that. God. Fucking god. 

He doesn’t look both ways before crossing. It seems no one ever really ends up on this side of things anyways. There are houses, but they’re all locals. People who, like Dan, are desensitized to the charm of the ocean, of the tourist traps. The reason they get to stay in the comfort of their own homes is they chose to stay here. Why is unclear, but he supposes many of them were just looking for somewhere quiet away from everyone they hate too. He can’t fault them for that. In fact, he envies them. Fantasies of stepping into one of those houses swirl behind his acne ridden forehead and greasy fringe. Into the house of someone he loves, falling asleep in their bed. God, he already misses his friends back home again. 

But he can’t find solace in anyone else’s bright kitchenette or cozy guest bed here, so he keeps walking. He passes mostly thin forest, the kind of winding beachy trees and round bushes that only really grow near the ocean. Two miles to the beach is not enough. His legs hurt on arrival, but not nearly enough for it to feel final. The sun turns a gentle orange as it dips its toe into the cold ocean waves. He hears them hitting the shore miles away. He likes walking until he can’t; collapsing is the only thing that makes his mind shut the fuck up. 

Dan would love to say this beach is just as unforgivingly cold and uninteresting as any other, but the tip of a lighthouse peaks out of the near distance. Guess his walk’s not over. Once he gets there, the sun’s getting ready to settle in the sea and the lighthouse seems to hold a cute little gift shop. And an even cuter guy. 

Running on hatred, he’s waved inside by the friendly, adorable stranger before getting the chance to run off. Suddenly, wearing two days ago’s skinny jeans and a moderately sweaty hoodie seems like a lot worse idea. He hopes to god Lynxx pulls through.Cold metal door handles shock his sweaty hands as he pushes his way inside. 

He has the warmest cold blue eyes you could imagine. “Hello! Welcome to Dewpoint Peak gift shop and museum. I haven’t seen you around, I don’t think?”

It’s empty except the two of them. Posters about local bird populations and tide patterns hang on the walls, racks of brightly colored shop logo hoodies sit off to one side. It smells like a cappuccino but it’s cold enough in there to make Dan less insecure about his current condition.

“Yeah, new here. Isn’t it a bit strange to have a place like this in what is essentially the middle of nowhere? ...No offense.” Dan’s always been a confrontational little fuck.

He - the beach-themed name tag on his shirt says Phil - smiles knowingly. “You’re right. It’s just, the lighthouse was put here decades ago and it wasn’t doing much else of course. Would you like some complimentary coffee? Uh…”

He turns to find a series of way too high tech coffee machines. “Dan. And thank you.” Dark, painfully hot decaf sounds like fucking heaven right now. 

“What brings you here, Dan?” His face is so sweet it physically hurts. 

Phil has a laptop with pokemon stickers and a mug with rainbow painted fish all over it. A mess of highlighters and gel pens sit in another colorful cup on the edge of his desk, and his phone is in a neon purple case. Dan’s eyes, though, are more interested in the stacks of papers and letters off to the side. Some envelopes have doodles all over, like its a love letter. Or… fan mail. From the paper that sticks out, he gathers characters and lines. Does he read plays? Write them?

Dan dumps his boiling hot coffee on the butterflies in his stomach, burning their fluttering wings to a crisp, then drowning them.

“Honestly? Parents drag me every year. Just never to this part of it.” He takes a seat on a hipster-worthy reclaimed driftwood bench across from where Phil sits at the reception desk. “You?”

“I used to have a job in the city, but it was a lot for me. I’m happy to lead a much more mundane life for now.” There’s a natural lull in the conversation where Dan considers asking what he did, but he doesn’t wanna be too invasive.

Phil’s voice is kind and light while still holding a deepness, solid and warm. “Would you like to see our exhibits? I’ll walk through with you. Doesn’t seem like anyone else is coming in tonight.” 

This kid is being way too nice to him. He learns about the nearby high school’s efforts to help bring back the depleted populations of several kinds of birds, and looks at plenty of rather beautiful sculptures and interactive ocean current themed games. Phil’s ever in his ear with fun, but never annoying comments and facts. His voice is too sincere and understanding to be annoying, like he intrinsically gets that Dan isn’t here for gimmicky, grossly cute facts about seals or sea turtles. He doesn’t get impatient when Dan pauses to gaze at the swirly fake acrylic water in one art piece depicting how snails survive in the waters. 

“Sun’s about to set, you know.” Phil’s voice is near whisper and as comforting as a brand new polyester throw blanket. Dan wants to melt, or cry. 

He hums in response, turning to look Phil in the eyes. He gets led across the room to the tiniest balcony facing away from the beach. The air’s crisper now, it fluffs up Phil’s hair like bird wings. The sun sinks behind those thin brushy forests and the odd little house. 

“We’ve placed in the top 15 sunrise beaches in the world, but I think the sunset’s pretty good too. Even if it’s not over the water.” 

Dan’s lips are dried out by the cold air and he’s afraid if he says something wrong, the sun will come back up and none of this will have been real. God, listen to him, how fucking touch starved is he. Twenty minutes with some moderately attractive guy turns him into milk and honey. 

He doesn’t want the sun to come up because it’s easier to hide in the dark. It’s a blanket, even as his hands start to shake with the cold. Or the nerves. He can feel it everywhere when Phil breathes because ripples are never formed in small towns, even with the sea. 

“I should probably get going. Probably already overstayed.” 

“It’s okay! I mean- you didn’t overstay. It was nice to have company for once.” They shuffle back inside and Phil locks the balcony door with a silver key. “Hardly anyone ever visits off season.” There’s an underlying melancholy to his bright tone.

It doesn’t make sense; a such a kind and bubbly boy seemingly stranded in the loosest veins of a small beach town, all alone in his lighthouse. It feels like an unfinished sonnet, a couple rhyming lines separate Dan from understanding what series of events brought them here. Or caused him to be such a fucking hopeless romantic oh my GOD.

“I’ll be back soon, probably. If you really don’t mind, that is.” Dan responds too urgently. He feels a red hot blush drip from his plush cheeks down his chest. He needs to stop doing that. 

“I’d really like that. I mean it. Dan.” There’s urgency in Phil’s voice too if Dan’s not hallucinating from the low blood sugar, muscle fatigue, and caffeine high by now. The other boy’s edge of fear calms his own. 

He nods with a smile before walking out backwards. The air has cooled now, and he pulls his hoodie closer around him in an effort to warm up. Phil locks the front door behind him before turning off the lights. Even as he’s walking away, he sees the immediate decrease in light. He’s not afraid of the ocean’s all-consuming dark after all these years, but he does look back one last time before the lighthouse is out of sight. 

The lights on the top levels are still glowing, a soft silhouette behind closed blinds. Dan tries not to smile at the sight.


End file.
